Chapter 34 Unexpected-expected knock
I wasn't expecting the knock.
It came sharp, urgent - the kind of knock that carried more than sound. It carried desperation.
For a second, I just froze. My heart started racing before my mind caught up. It couldn't be him. No. Not after all the messages I ignored. Not after I made up my mind to move on.
But then came the second knock. Louder. More impatient.
And something inside me just knew.
I crossed the room slowly, every step heavy, as if the air itself was warning me to stop. My hand hesitated on the handle before I finally opened it.
There he was.
Damian.
He looked wrecked - hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, shirt half buttoned. Like he hadn't slept in days. His chest rose and fell too fast, his knuckles white around his phone.
"Elena," he breathed out, as if my name alone was the thing keeping him alive.
I blinked, stunned for a moment, then my anger came rushing back like a flood. "What are you doing here?"
"I had to see you," he said, voice cracking. "I needed to tell you in person."
I crossed my arms, cold, sharp. "Tell me what? That you've been lying to me again? That your pregnant ex just happens to still need you?"
He swallowed hard. "Elena, please. Just listen-"
"No," I snapped. "You don't get to 'Elena, please' me anymore. You lied. You hid things. You made me feel like I was the problem."
"I didn't lie about this," he said quickly. "The test came in. The paternity test."
My stomach tightened. I didn't want to hear it - didn't want the words that could destroy me all over again. "Don't."
But he said it anyway.
"It's mine," he whispered. "The baby's mine."
For a second, I just stared at him. My brain couldn't even process it. Then, before I knew what I was doing, my hand connected with his face.
The sound was sharp - too sharp - and echoed through the room. Damian didn't even move. He just stood there, cheek reddening, eyes hollow.
"You have some audacity," I said, my voice trembling, half with fury, half with heartbreak. "You came all the way here to tell me that? That your ex-fiancée's baby - is yours?"
He took a breath, his voice small. "I thought you deserved to know."
I laughed bitterly. "Deserved? Damian, I didn't deserve any of this. I didn't deserve to be made into a fool. I didn't deserve to find out like this."
He tried to step closer, but I stepped back. "Don't," I said quietly. "Just stay there."
He stopped. His shoulders slumped, guilt carved deep into his face. "Elena, I didn't come to hurt you. I just wanted to be honest."
"Honest?" I spat. "Now you choose honesty? After lying about Isla, after sneaking around, after letting me think there was something real between us?"
"There was something real!" he said, voice breaking. "There still is."
"No," I whispered. "There isn't."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air was thick with everything we'd lost - trust, hope, maybe even love. Damian rubbed his face, looking ten years older than he had last month.
Finally, I said, "You should go. Be with her. Be the father your baby needs."
He stared at me for a long time, eyes searching mine like he was begging for permission to say something more. Then, quietly, he nodded. "If that's what you want."
"It's what's left," I said.
He turned to leave. I shut the door before I could change my mind.
And then I fell apart.
I sank to the floor, hands pressed to my face, tears spilling faster than I could stop them. Because despite everything, part of me still loved him. And now, that part felt like it had finally died.
Damian's POV
I didn't remember the drive back.
Just flashes.
Streetlights slicing through the rain, the steering wheel slick beneath my palms, and my reflection staring back at me from the windshield - hollow eyes, red from no sleep.
The paternity test sat on the seat beside me, face down, like it was mocking me. I'd already read it a dozen times.
Probability of Paternity: 99.8%.
My name. My DNA. My mess.
I told myself I was fine. That this was my reality now - that maybe being a father would finally force me to be better.
But the truth was, I felt sick. Not because of the baby... but because the only person I wanted to tell was the one who would never forgive me.
Elena.
The way she'd looked at me before she slammed the door - it burned itself into my skull. The disgust. The disappointment. The hurt I'd earned.
I'd gone there hoping for some kind of peace, some redemption. Instead, I got a slap that felt like it cracked through bone - and honestly, I deserved worse.
By the time I got back to my apartment, I was numb.
Except she was there. Waiting for me.
Isla.
She sat on the couch like she owned the place, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone, her belly rounding out the thin white dress she wore.
Five months along. The bump was there, undeniable. And seeing it twisted something in me I couldn't name.
"You told her, didn't you?" she asked without looking up.
I dropped the envelope on the table. "She deserved to know."
Her eyes flicked to the paper, then back to me. "And what did she say?"
"She told me to leave."
A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips. "Can't say I blame her."
"Don't start, Isla," I said, rubbing my temples. "I'm not in the mood."
"Not in the mood?" she echoed, mock sympathy dripping from her voice. "You think I'm in the mood, Damian? I'm five months pregnant, and the father of my child can barely look at me."
I exhaled sharply. "I'll be there for the baby. You know that. But I can't do... this."
She tilted her head. "You mean me."
I didn't answer.
"God," she laughed softly, shaking her head. "You really do love her, don't you?"
I looked away. That was answer enough.
She followed me into the kitchen anyway, her tone turning sharp. "You think she'll wait for you? After finding out about this? After everything you've done? You're delusional."
"Maybe she should move on," I muttered. "Maybe that's better for her."
"Better for her?" Isla scoffed. "You don't get to play the noble card now. You cheated, Damian. You ruined everything we had."
I spun on her, voice low and cold. "And you got revenge by sleeping with my uncle."
Her face froze.
Just for a heartbeat. But that was all I needed.
She blinked fast, trying to regain composure. "You're imagining things. You're tired-"
But then her phone buzzed. Once.
And she flinched.
Before she could grab it, I did. Reflex. Instinct. Maybe even anger.
"Damian," she warned, "give me the phone."
I looked down at the screen. Message previewed right there. A contact named Dr. Howard.
Dr. Howard: The payment was received. File alteration complete. No trace left.
I stared at it. My brain went quiet. Completely blank.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice flat.
"Damian, give me the phone," she said again, stepping forward, too fast, too nervous.
I scrolled up. Dozens of messages. Payments. Instructions.
Dates that matched the paternity test timeline.
I felt the floor tilt beneath me.
"You bribed them," I said slowly, the words tasting like rust in my mouth. "You bribed the doctor."
"Stop-"
"You paid someone to fake the results." I threw the phone down, the sound cracking through the room. "You made me think this baby was mine."
Tears welled in her eyes, but I didn't believe them. "You don't understand-"
"Then explain it to me!" I yelled. "Explain how you could lie about something like this!"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Because it was supposed to be you, Damian. It was supposed to be you."
I blinked. "What the hell does that even mean?"
"I didn't want this," she said, voice trembling now. "I didn't want him. It just... happened. I was angry, I was hurt, and-"
"Stop talking in circles!" I snapped. "Who's the father, Isla?"
She hesitated. I could see the truth fighting behind her eyes, twisting in her throat.
And then she said it.
"...Richard."
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
My uncle.
I stumbled back, my pulse roaring in my ears. "You... you slept with him again?"
Silence.
I ran a hand down my face, trying to keep from putting a hole in the wall. "You disgust me."
Her voice cracked. "You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to raise his child?"
I laughed bitterly. "You bribed a hospital to fake a DNA test, Isla. Don't you dare play the victim now."
She took a step toward me, but I was already backing away. Every memory of us - every laugh, every kiss, every lie - felt like acid in my veins.
And then, somewhere between the anger and exhaustion, came this strange, quiet clarity.
I looked at her, at the chaos she'd brought into my life, at the ghost of the person I used to love - and I realized I didn't feel hate. Not anymore. Just relief.
"Maybe that's a good thing," I said softly.
She frowned. "What?"
"Maybe the fact that I'm not the father," I said, stepping toward the door, "means I finally get to be free."
She blinked, confused. "Free from what?"
"From you," I said. "From all of this."
I opened the door and didn't look back.
Her voice followed me down the hall - shrill, panicked, desperate. "You'll regret this, Damian! You'll regret everything!"
Maybe I would.
But right now, walking out into the night, all I felt was the weight lifting off my shoulders.
I wasn't the father.
I wasn't trapped.
And maybe, for the first time in a long time...
I still had a chance to fix what mattered most.